The Urn
by HardyBoyz4Eva
Summary: Undertaker/Punk/Kane. Punk is feeling remorseful over stealing Paul Bearer's urn. His lovers remind him that it was just a storyline, and there is no love-loss between them. Full list of warnings inside.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Threesome, Pseudo-Incest (Undertaker/Kane), DP, etc.

* * *

Mark stared into the black abyss that was their hotel room, not surprised to find absolutely no trace of the Straight-Edge Star. It was clear that he had been there earlier, however, as the late Paul Bearer's urn had been set neatly in the middle of the bed – the small sliver that Phil usually occupied. At first, it didn't even seem to register in the Phenom's mind. Too concerned with his sudden hatred for his young lover and concern for his on-screen brother, he didn't _want_ to see the small act of kindness.

But, eventually, he had little choice in the matter. Glen stormed in a few minutes later, having been held downstairs in the lobby by his tag-team partner, Daniel Bryan. The 'World's Toughest Vegan' was practically blowing a gasket over the fact that he had been roomed with his ex-boyfriend, Dolph Ziggler. What the two saw in each other, Mark would never know. But instead of being allowed to grieve Bearer's death, Glen had to convince the smaller wrestler not to murder Dolph in his sleep.

"Well, how did it go?" Mark asked. He watched as Glen kicked off his boots, the other giant blatantly ignoring the urn in the middle of the bed as well. From the look shot Mark's way, it hadn't turned out well at all.

"All I can say is, in about two hours, they'll be screaming in ecstasy." Glen shrugged. "I'll never understand how those idiots do it. They claim to hate each other, yet they can't stay out of each other's pants."

"Hmm… sounds like us from the earlier part of the 90s." Mark offered distantly. Glen flushed, looked away, and nodded briskly.

"True." He took off the mask, having no use for it now. "But somehow, with those two, it's much more annoying."

Glen didn't pretend to understand what went on inside that man's head. Just the fact that he would even entertain the idea of dating the pint-sized catastrophe that was AJ Lee said more than words ever could. That had been what had broken him and Dolph up in the first place (and now that Glen looked back on it, that was probably exactly what the psychotic diva wanted). Now, Dolph had his hand in the cookie jar and Daniel couldn't stand it. It was like a double standard.

Looking back on it, AJ had caused a lot of calamity in his relationship with Mark and Phil as well. Glen may have already been mentally unstable, but AJ was in another dimension he didn't even want to _touch_. Phil didn't want her either, but that didn't stop her from trying. She could've broken his back when she went off her rocker (one of the thousands of times) and threw him through a table, along with Daniel Bryan. Even off-screen, she was constantly trying to get with him. It was annoying.

When Phil had finally caved in and gone on a date with her, she had practically tried to kill them both with an unwanted hand-job in the car. They hadn't so much as kissed on the date, but she had paraded around backstage like she had laid him. It had caused some tension between the three of them, sure, but they'd never really believe the manipulative lies of one crazed pixie. And it wasn't like he had stolen the late Paul Bearer's urn or anything.

"What's that?" Glen asked, motioning to the golden urn that had been neatly positioned in the middle of the bed.

"It's Bearer's urn." Mark replied nonchalantly. "It was there when I came in. Phil must've dropped it off."

Glen looked at his on-screen brother in disbelief. "You really think that it could be that simple? You really think that he'd just hand it over, no questions asked?" Mark didn't answer. "Because I don't."

"What do you think, it's rigged to explode?" Mark quipped. "Even Phil's not that low."

Glen rolled his eyes. "No, not that. I mean… how do we actually know that it really is Bearer's urn?"

Mark shrugged, tossing his suitcase onto his side of the bed and retrieving his toothpaste and toothbrush. "I don't know. But I can say that I highly doubt he would just go out and buy a random urn to trick us."

"That's true, but…" it was obvious that Glen was still having a hard time wrapping his mind around all of this. Mark didn't blame him. He'd been close to Bearer. They all had. "After all that shit, why would he just give it back?"

"So you wouldn't kill him in his sleep?" Mark offered, one eyebrow raised.

"Funny, but we both know I'd much rather have the pleasure of watching my victims die slowly while they're awake."

"Of course." Mark countered, as if this were a totally normal conversation for them. It probably was.

A comfortable silence fell over the two of them. Mark made his way into the bathroom and cleaned all of the kohl and ashy white powder off of his face, while Glen took a seat on his third of the bed. Lifting the urn off of its cushion in the middle, he rolled it between his hands reverently, marveling in the familiar weight. This was all that was left of a man who had meant to much to him… of a man that had meant so much to the both of them. He hoped that he had done him honor that night.

When Mark returned, dressed only in a pair of loose black sweatpants, Glen realized that he was still lost on one small piece of this grand puzzle. Where was Phil? He had returned Paul Bearer's urn and corrected the egregious error he had made on RAW earlier. So why wasn't he here? He couldn't honestly still be afraid of them, could he? Carefully, Glen let the urn slide back onto the middle of the bed. Glen inclined his head toward it, and Mark blinked, not understanding.

"If the urn is here, where is Phil?" Glen clarified.

"How the hell should I know?" Mark asked, no malice in his tone. "If I tried to understand everything that went on in that boy's head, I'd go insane." Mark continued, before climbing onto the bed. "Why, are you worried about him?"

"I don't worry." Glen countered.

Mark smirked. "No, that's true. You just sulk."

"Shut up." Glen rolled his eyes. "The kid's had a hard time. I'm not worried, no. Concerned… maybe a little bit."

Mark rolled over, retrieving Glen's cell phone from the bedside table. He tossed it at Glen's chest, watching as he failed to catch it. "If you're so _concerned_ about him, why don't you call him?"

Glen sighed. "Fine. Maybe I will."

And he did call Phil. It didn't help that it went directly to voicemail. In fact, it kind of unsettled him. Not that he would ever admit that aloud to Mark. Mark would never let him live it down. So, instead, he tossed the phone to the foot of the bed and watched as it bounced lazily. Where the hell could that little bugger be? It wasn't like Phil to just disappear like this. And then, a thought occurred to Glen… it was a long shot, but it was still possible.

"Well, he's not answering. Do you think that he could still be…" Glen trailed off, watching as Mark's eyes flickered.

The darker brunette shrugged. "It's worth a shot." Grabbing a shirt from his suitcase, he started toward the door. When Glen didn't follow, he continued, "Well, are you coming, or not?" And, without further ado, Glen followed.

* * *

After a thorough search of the arena, Glen and Mark were almost ready to call it quits and head back to the hotel. That was, of course, until they saw the subtle shadow of a man sitting up in the seats overlooking the ring. He hadn't seemed to notice them yet, but then, he didn't seem to notice much of anything. He was just staring into oblivion, his face entirely blank. Upon closer inspection, there was no doubt that it was Phil.

Glen and Mark started up the stairs, watching as Phil continued to stare at the massive hole where the Titantron used to be. The look on his face was easy to read. It was absolute confusion. In his mind, he replayed the ceremony for Paul Bearer over and over. There was something that he kept getting stuck on, something that he just couldn't understand. And that was why he had taken the urn. His promo had gone perfectly… until he had taken it one step too far and had walked out with the urn.

An uncomfortable silence ensued. Finally, Glen cleared his throat. Phil's body jerked and he turned to him suddenly, locking eyes with him momentarily, before he let them fall to the floor. Within a minute of Glen clearing his throat, he turned his attention back to the hole where the Titantron used to be. It was evident that he didn't want to talk… but maybe it was because he had nothing to say. He had no words to justify his actions. All he could do was sit there and stare.

"You returned the urn, Phil." Mark was the first one to speak, seeing as Glen had lost his voice as well. "You returned the urn, so why are you still here? Come back to the hotel before you freeze your ass off."

It was freezing cold and Phil's skin was cold to the touch, but he didn't shiver at all. His eyes flickered over to Mark, "I can't." And then he turned back, fixing his eyes on that awful hole in the wall.

"Why not?" Mark asked. "Are you worried that we're still mad at you?"

Phil laughed bitterly. "No. I _know_ you're still mad at me. I'm lucky Glen hasn't killed me yet."

Glen cracked his knuckles grotesquely, loving the way that Phil flinched. "That would be an understatement."

"Ignore him." Mark waved Glen off, ignoring the glower from his on-screen brother. "Phil, what's the matter with you? Come on now, you can tell us. We won't bite. Right, Glen?"

Glen scowled for a minute, before he looked away. "Right."

Phil worried his lip ring, not ready to speak. He could feel the pressure of Glen's hand on his shoulder, and it felt like a two-ton weight had been set on him. He felt bad, sure. In fact, he felt awful. Just thinking about his actions from earlier made him sick. Phil didn't like to be the bad guy, but creative insisted that he did it so… damn… well. But that didn't mean that he had to take a dead man's urn and smash it over his boyfriend's head. That had taken it one step too far.

He swallowed hard, biting down harder, harder still, so _damn hard_. If he bit down hard enough, then maybe he could ignore the tears that were collecting in his eyes. They burned as they trickled down his face, creating streaks on his alabaster skin. It looked dark in the absence of light, just like everything else. He tried to hide it from his two lovers, but it didn't exactly work. Instead, it made them pity him, which was exactly what he wanted to avoid.

"This isn't your fault, Phil." Glen muttered softly, the earlier malice gone. "You can't change what creative makes you do."

Phil didn't dare touch the tears, not wanting to call more attention to them then he had to. "You know, I actually _did_ like Paul Bearer. He was one hell of a manager. And I didn't… I really didn't want to do that."

Mark nodded. "We know, baby. We know. That's not your fault."

"But it is!" Phil screamed. "It is my fault, because I agreed to the contract!"

Mark shook his head. "You couldn't have changed it, Phil. It's not your fault that Paul Bearer died. It's not your fault that they tried to turn it into a storyline." Mark said.

Phil swallowed hard, trying his best to hold back a sob. It didn't really work. "I'm really sorry. It's… It's fucking pathetic, what I did. I bark on and on about respect and I just disrespected Paul Bearer!"

"It's not your fault, Phil." Mark emphasized. "It's not your fault."

Phil still didn't believe them. "What can we do to make you believe us, Phil? Neither of us blame you." This time, it was Glen who said it. He looked straight into Phil's eyes, no matter how hard the brunette tried to look away.

"I need to be… I need to be punished. I need to… I need to hurt, like I hurt you." That was all Phil could manage to get out.

Mark and Glen shared a look, before nodding. Glen lifted Phil off of the stark white seat with the greatest of ease, before tossing him down on the floor. Phil let out a small squeal, not bothering to try and crawl away. Within seconds, all of his clothes were off and scattered across the risers (it helped that he was still in his wrestling attire). Glen knelt down beside the smaller man, connecting their mouths in a brutal kiss that had teeth clashing and tongues battling for dominance.

Mark fell down to his knees on the other side, not even bothering to work Phil to hardness. That wouldn't be much of a punishment after all. He slicked his fingers with spit, spreading Phil's legs and stuffing the first finger in to the knuckle. He let out a startled whine, moaning into Glen's mouth as he tried to squirm away from the finger. The second and third finger were quickly added, Mark revealing in the sound of Phil's screams.

And then, finally, he withdrew his fingers and rolled his sweatpants and underwear down. Glen lifted Phil a little bit so that Mark could slide underneath, before Mark slid in with one quick thrust. Phil screamed, neither noticing the thin trickling of blood onto Mark's member that allowed him to move with greater ease. He thrust once, gaining his rhythm, before he stilled and allowed Glen the chance to slide in as well. With little to no prep, it was easy to feel Phil tearing around them.

"Ow… fuck that hurts!" Phil started to writhe against them, trying to get them out. But his screams turned into moans when Glen teased his awakening member. "Mmm…"

"Hmm… you like it when I touch you there, hmm baby?" As if in answer, Phil bucked his hips up. This forced the head of Mark's cock to slam into his prostate and Glen took hold of Phil's member, stroking it softly.

"Yes, _yes_…" he trailed off, unable to form coherent words as he was brutally fucked by his two lovers. Glen worked him in his hand, twisting around the fat mushroom head in order to provide maximum pleasure.

Mark started a fast and brutal pace, his on-screen brother following suit. Glen slid his nail over the slit, watching as Phil's body shuddered between them. A thick sheen of sweat formed on the brunette's skin, causing their bodies to stick together like glue. Even with the blood slowly leaking from Phil's entrance, his eyes were hazed over with lust and pleasure. This had never been about punishment. This was all about making him feel better.

"Fuck… _Fuck_… I'm gonna…" Phil trailed off. "Oh, right there – fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" His eyes rolled back into his head, doing an impressive impersonation of the Undertaker.

"We're right there with you, baby. Just hold on for a second longer." Mark slurred, lost in a lust-drunk delirium.

Phil tumbled over the edge first, thick ropes of white spewing out over his stomach in seemingly endless channels. Mark and Glen followed suit, emptying into their lover in turn. Glen pulled out first, careful not to further aggravate Phil's bleeding ass. Mark pulled out second, the wet _pop_ making Phil moan with discomfort. In order to make sure that he wouldn't freeze in the open arena, Glen covered him with his sweatshirt.

"Am I…" Phil looked at his two lovers hesitantly. "Am I forgiven?"

Mark smiled softly, sharing a look with his on-screen brother. And then, he nodded, "Don't you know that there was never anything to forgive?"

* * *

**R.I.P Paul Bearer**


End file.
